


Natural

by Jetsun1119



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Severus in Slytherin, Fluff, Harry Potter Next Generation, Other, Potions, Potions Masters, Rose is literally Hermione all over again, nerdy!rose, scorpius is not popular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetsun1119/pseuds/Jetsun1119
Summary: Just a fluffy little next gen fanfic based on the prompt "Scorpius sits next to Rose in Potions class."





	Natural

Potions class was the class that Scorpius was most looking forward to. Actually, it was the only part of the Hogwarts experience that he was looking forward to. So naturally, because the fates had had it out for him since the day he was born, he ran into Peeves on the way to class.  
He should have known. He really should have known that walking down the corridor alone was a bad idea- the prefects had warned them repeatedly not to- but it was hardly as though he had a choice. Being one of only two boys in first-year Slytherin (the other being Albus Severus Potter who was practically a Gryffindor and chose to walk with them) meant that he was pretty much on his own. Which was why he now found himself in an empty corridor with a gleeful Peeves.  
“Ickle firstie all by himselfie,” Peeves cackled, his small black eyes glinting wickedly. “Don’t go any friendsies, hmm?”  
As he had been advised, Scorpius kept his head down and kept walking. Peeves swooped to block his way. “Password?”  
“Excuse me please,” Scorpius muttered.  
Peeves just cackled louder. “A polite one!” he said delightedly. “But you can’t fool old Peevsie you can’t. Firsties who don’t know the password do not pass.” He spread his arms to further block the way.  
“And poltergeists who stop firsties from getting to their classes have the Baron to answer to,” said a voice behind Scorpius, sounding equal parts stern and playful. “Go bother Mrs. Norris, Peeves. She’s looking entirely too smug today.”  
Peeves blew a wet raspberry and swooped off, presumably to find the caretaker’s cat. Scorpius turned around to see that his savior was a young, cheerful looking ghost with an infectious grin.  
“Thanks,” he said, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder and turning to hurry off. He was late already.  
“No problem,” the ghost replied. Scorpius could feel his eyes trained on him. “Hey, you’re Malfoy’s kid, aren’t you?” he asked, drifting easily behind Scorpius.  
Scorpius stiffened. This was a Gryffindor ghost and his father, not popular with anyone, was particularly unpopular among the Gryffindors. “Yes,” he muttered reluctantly, bracing himself for the ghost to set Peeves on him or something.  
But the boy only nodded. “Better hurry, you’re late,” he said neutrally before drifting through a solid wall and disappearing.

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He wasn’t actually late because the professor hadn’t started class yet but everyone else was already there which left Scorpius practically seatless. Practically because there were two empty seats, one on the Slytherin side and one on the Gryffindor side. The one on the Slytherin side was occupied by Albus Severus’ schoolbag and he didn’t seem to making a move to take it off, which left a front row seat on the Gryffindor side next to the bushy haired Weasley girl.  
Scorpius was a Malfoy. Malfoys, no matter how unpopular they were in the Wizarding world had pride. Too much pride to beg for a seat from a Potter who clearly didn’t want him to sit there, so he sat next to Weasley.  
She was staring at the table and didn’t look up when he sat down, keeping her eyes trained on her hands, clenched on the tabletop in front of her. At first he was vaguely offended (not that he wanted to talk to her but some recognition would have been nice) but at a second glance he could see that she was biting her lip determinedly and tears hung on her thick lashes.  
His brief internal debate as to whether or not to ask if she was alright was ended by the professor’s starting the lesson.  
He was a slender, dark-haired man, dressed in simple black robes. “Class, I am Professor Malachi.” The name appeared on the board behind him in elegant script. “I am here to instruct in the science, and eventually the art, of potion making.” His voice was quiet and pleasant but held a note of authority that made it clear that he was not someone you wanted to cross. His accent was broader than the clipped, aristocratic tones that Scorpius was used to, softened by a hint of Yorkshire.  
“I can teach you the science,” he continued. “I can teach you the mathematical calculations, the exact recipes, and rest assured that I will. What I cannot teach you but hope to cultivate within some of you is the art. To be able to sense, and eventually to toy with and create the delicate beauty that is a perfectly balanced potion.  
“Not all of you will be able to do this,” he warned, hazel eyes seeping over the class. “I cannot teach you talent. But I do fully intend to make competent potioneers from the lot of you, which means not only knowing what to put into a potion but knowing why you are putting a given ingredient into the potion. Therefore we will begin strictly with theory; we won’t be brewing until next week at the earliest. Take out your copies of 1,000 Magical Herbs and Fungi.”  
Professor Malachi waited for until everyone had gotten the book out before continuing. “Turn to the index in the back of the book. You will find each that all of the herbs are listed in alphabetical order, and that beside each herb is a Roman numeral.” He waited patiently while the students flipped to the back of the textbook. “The Roman numerals refer to the class to which the herb belongs. Herbs are classified based on their Potions usage- Class I are catylsts, Class II are stabilizers, etc. Of course, many herbs can function in different capacities but they are classified according to their primary use. Occasionally an herb is given two classifications if it can’t be determined which is the true primary usage.”  
“We will now learn about the classes of herbs. Please take out your Potions: Inside the Cauldron textbooks and open to Chapter 1, page 5. Can I have a volunteer to read the first paragraph? “  
Scorpius felt rather than saw Weasley’s hand shoot up.  
There was a derisive snort from behind them. “Teacher’s pet,” someone hissed. Her hand wavered but remained proudly in the air. Glancing sideways, though, Scorpius could see that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glossy.  
Scorpius had nothing to lose. The Gryffindors shunned him for being a Slytherin and the Slytherins either ignored him or shunned him for being a Malfoy so it was hardly as though being labeled “teacher’s pet” would hurt his nonexistent social standing. He raised his hand to volunteer.  
Professor Malachi, clearly aware of the state that Weasley was in called on him immediately, giving her a chance to compose herself before he called on her to read the second paragraph. There were no further volunteers, so the professor made what he called “mandatory volunteers”, working his way around the classroom until the end of class.  
“Homework-due next Monday- I would like ten inches on any one of the classes of herbs.” He tapped the board with his wand and a list of titles appeared below his name in the same script. “Additional references that you may find useful. Class dismissed.”  
There was general scraping and shuffling as everyone packed their bags and made their way to the door. The Gryffindor girls left in a giggling group; Weasly didn’t leave with them, packing her bag far more slowly and methodically than strictly necessary.  
“You should go with your friends,” Scorpius found himself telling her. “You really shouldn’t walk alone. Y’know Peeves and all..” He trailed off at the look she gave him; pinched and hurt.  
“They’re not my friends,” she said tightly. “And they don’t want me to walk with them.”  
Scorpius stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Walk with me?” he offered. “We have Herbology together next.”  
She only hesitated for a beat. “Sure,” she said, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.


End file.
